


Surviving

by TheLightFury



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dissociation, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by the world falling apart, Light Angst, Locked In, M/M, Needy boys finding each other, Pandemics, Pre-Relationship, References to Depression, Touch Starved Draco, Touch-Starved, just a hint, touch starved Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23845966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLightFury/pseuds/TheLightFury
Summary: With thousands contracting Dragon Pox, the Ministry had closed Hogwarts, ordering wizards and witches all over the UK to stay in their homes. Which should have been great for enjoying time off of school, and relaxing after winning a war.But not everyone had homes. Like Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. So now, trapped in an entirely deserted castle save for them, there was silence. And after a fortnight, it had almost convinced them that they'd never be happy again.Almost.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 15
Kudos: 295





	Surviving

Silence.

That's all there was.

In every corridor, in every classroom, in every dorm. There was just silence. And as long as the Dragon Pox outbreak continued, it was set to stay. 

With thousands contracting the disease, the Ministry had closed Hogwarts, ordering wizards and witches all over the UK to stay in their homes. Which should have been great for enjoying time off of school, and relaxing after winning a war. 

But not everyone had homes. Like Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

Of course, Harry could have taken refuge with the Weasleys, or gone to Grimmauld Place. But Hermione was staying with Ron now, with her parents still in Australia. And Luna had moved in with her father because their house was still basically a pile of rubble after the war. So if he piled in as well, it would have been a very tight squeeze. Especially with all the emotional baggage piled around them from Fred’s absence; just the idea of being trapped in that tiny house with no escape from the grief was enough to send shivers down his spine… And though he wanted to visit his Godfather’s house and start refurbishing it, and finally make it a happy place, Harry was in no way ready to face all the ghosts waiting for him there either. So once more, Hogwarts was his only home. 

But Draco? Draco didn’t have any options.  _ At all _ . The Manor had been claimed by the Ministry and emptied, his father was in prison, and his mother was in France behind closed borders and strict new laws forbidding the use of the Floo network to prevent the spread of the infection. So he was stuck; stranded in the castle he simultaneously loved and hated for all it reminded him of, with the boy who hated his guts, but who'd somehow managed to save his life more times than he could count. The boy who’d all but ignored him since the year began. The boy Draco himself had basically avoided all year—save for a handful of casual nods of acknowledgment—not wishing to venture into the ocean of water between them, in order to start building a bridge over their past. 

And so now, trapped in an entirely deserted castle save for them, there was silence. Deafening. Awkward. Soul destroying silence. 

It had been kind of nice to start with—a break from the hysteria and hatred that followed them both around (though Draco was sure he was the only one who was hated). But after only three days, all the peace and relief had faded—no, had been  _ consumed _ —by a dark, dreary melancholy. Seemingly overnight, it seeped deep into their bones, stealing any ounce of energy they might have left, trying to convince them that they’d never be happy ever again. 

And after a fortnight of solitude; a fortnight of boredom, a full, year-long-week of only having the sound of their own breathing for company—for neither of them could bring themselves to utter a single syllable to one another—it almost succeeded.

_ Almost. _

Another day was drawing to an end, far quicker than Harry expected—somehow most of it having slipped by in a haze of nothingness that Harry hadn’t even noticed had crept upon him—and suddenly dinner time was upon him. House Elves appeared with two steaming trays of bangers and mash that made Harry’s stomach grumble dutifully though he hadn’t been the slightest bit hungry all day. But as he reached for cutlery and gravy, something made him stop. The silence was too… Silent, somehow. Like there was something mis— _ Oh! _

Malfoy. The Slytherin was nowhere to be seen. The familiar white-blond hair wasn’t peeking over the top of the wing-backed armchair like it usually was, and—now that he thought about it—Harry hadn’t seen him since that morning. Not that spending entire days without seeing each other in a deserted castle was uncommon of course; it was just that Malfoy was always there, waiting for it, ready to disappear to his dorm, the library, or just curl in front of the fire with his arm possessively wound around his plate, as if Harry was going to steal it or something. But for the first time since their isolation together began, he was nowhere to be found. And suddenly, despite the fact that they never spoke—barely even glanced at each other, in fact—the idea of eating without knowing Malfoy would be eating soon too flooded his stomach with unease. Staring for one last moment at the thick, dark gravy that made his mouth water, he threw a quick stasis charm over the food, before heading out of the dorm, intent on searching for the Slytherin. 

Surprisingly—or maybe not so—it didn’t take him too long to find him. As he considered both the Quidditch pitch and the Room of Requirement, his feet blindly carried him to the library, which was a far more obvious place for the Slytherin—despite the lack of work they had, he really was as bad as Hermione in some respects. Okay, sure, studying was probably a better use of his time than staring into space for hours on end, but Harry didn’t  _ really  _ want to think about that right then… Fortunately, as he pushed through the doors, the sight before him gave him a welcome distraction. 

At the very first table, with the most comfortable chair imaginable, was Malfoy. Slumped on top of a book. Snoring softly. Hair in gentle disarray. Looking peaceful for once in his life. And just for a moment, Harry stopped, breath catching in his throat at the only quasi-pleasant thing he’d seen or experienced in what felt like months. So enthralled, so completely taken by the picture in front of him, only the rumbling of his stomach a few moments later shook him from his thoughts.

“Er, Malfoy?” he called quietly from his spot, not wanting to scare the idiot—or worse, provoke his wrath. But as seconds passed slowly, the blond made no sign of having heard him.

“Malfoy,” he tried again, drawing closer tentatively, every footstep amplified to almost deafening levels in his mind. Still, only snores came from the other boy. 

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered to himself, all manner of scenarios which ended in him getting hexed, punched, and shouted at running through his head. But as nothing but a small spit bubble appeared on Malfoy’s face, and desperately looking around the room as if hoping the Slytherin would suddenly wake up unprompted changed absolutely nothing, Harry sighed, reaching a hand towards Malfoy’s bony shoulder.

“Malf—whoa!” 

As soon as Harry’s hand met the soft, cashmere jumper, the boy jerked awake, springing up out of his seat. Wild panic coursed through his eyes as his hand automatically reached for his wand, the undeniable aura of formidable power suddenly radiating from the Slytherin, despite the almost comical creases the book he’d fallen asleep on had etched into his skin. Instantly, Harry jumped back, hands raised in surrender as Malfoy’s eyes fell on him, watching as they blinked first in surprise, then understanding as his gaze lingered on Harry’s hand. But when understanding morphed into something else entirely, a sharp pang hit Harry full force. 

Longing, unwavering and unabashed, glimmered in Malfoy’s eyes. Begging, pleading, craving—just for a moment—before, in a blink, the usual blank veneer descended once more, eschewing the disappointment that threatened to flood them. As Malfoy smoothed a nervous hand over his jumper, Harry struggled to tear his eyes from the taut lips, the careful expression, the determined bob of Malfoy’s Adam’s apple. All notion of why he’d tried to find the boy in the first place deserted him entirely as his heart leapt to his throat, the heat from Malfoy’s shoulder burned his hand, and need suddenly clawed in his chest.

In an instant, the isolation, the silence, the utter emptiness and hollowness of the last few weeks was crushing him, weighing on him like a thousand horcruxes at once. Every forlorn tick of the clock, every lonely moment that had dragged on for years, every lifeless breath he’d given ran through his mind, each one sending shocks of agony through him. And as the knowledge that the lockdown wouldn’t be lifted anytime soon circled once again, Harry knew that even a single second longer of this would be impossible to tolerate. 

Almost blindly, he reached, outstretched fingers touching gently to Malfoy’s carefully relaxed hand, bumping it as grey eyes flashed in shock, recoiling slightly at the expected yet still surprising coolness, before toying tentatively at Malfoy’s fingertips, the soft scrape of nails against his skin giving him goosebumps. 

For a moment, nothing happened. Malfoy’s gaze, hot and amazed, burned Harry’s cheek as he resolutely focused on the pale fingers, the soft skin, the perfectly nails—once so perfect—now jagged from hours of biting. But suddenly, the fingers parted, allowing Harry’s to slip down between them until they were loosely holding hands. Heat met cold, breaths stuttered, hearts raced, and thumbs, simultaneously gentle and calloused, smoothed over one another’s skin, savouring the warmth, the solidity, the rush of reassurance that they were categorically not alone. As Harry squeezed softly, gently, furtive eyes met one another, glancing just long enough to see the same hunger reflecting back at him, before the gaze was dropped, and hands moved. Tenderly they climbed over forearms, shyly yet boldly, they caressed fabric, and—just for a moment—they paused at joints, over muscles, before continuing on, mapping shoulders, sides, backs, all the while pulling each other closer.

Fists balled into jumpers, heads rested against each other, eyes fluttered shut, and irregular, hungry breaths tickled both of their necks as arms wound their way around each other’s bodies, simply holding one another close. 

“Potter,” Malfoy barely breathed, voice unsteady as he clutched tighter to Harry’s shirt, his warmth sending shivers of happiness through Harry for the first time in weeks. “What are we doing?”

Harry shook his head slightly, burying his face in the soft cashmere covering Malfoy’s shoulder as his fingers flirted with the soft tresses of hair on the Slytherin’s neck.

“Surviving a pandemic, Malfoy."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come and find me on Tumblr @april-thelightfury115 :D


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